


come home

by mothwrites



Category: The Shapeshifter & Unleashed - Ali Sparkes
Genre: Fantasy Court AU, Gen, M/M, M/S/D polyamory (vague)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Owen,” Gideon sighed, “would you please tell your son to stop making eyes at the King’s consort before he puts us at war?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	come home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmar/gifts).



> A little gift for my friend Emma- I hope you like it! I didn't get to include as many characters as I wanted, but I needed to upload it before I go off travelling. Maybe I'll write some more while I'm away?

If the people of Tregarren have taught Dax anything, it’s that those from Fenton are not to be trusted. They’re tricksters, they say. Spies and illusions are their work, and they are never happier than when there is magic and mischief being done.

  
Dax doesn’t believe this, or, he doesn’t want to. True, there’s a huge difference between the two cultures; Tregarren folk are as honest and true as the salt of the sea they live by, and their actions are just as rough and unpretentious. The Fenton people, however, are from woodland. From deep, dark forests, with all their twists and turns and hiding places.

 

The people Dax met in the first few hours of Spencer’s visit backed up this belief completely. So, he was relieved beyond measure when he spotted the most mysterious, shrouded figure in the company roll his eyes almost out of his head when the foreign king put on airs and graces and practically _drawled_ his terms and conditions of peace at Gideon.

 

The man wasn’t carrying a weapon; or- anything, really. He was dressed in expensive-looking coloured silks, and wore a little jewellery- an extreme contrast to the plain, homely clothes that Gideon’s people favoured. Dax was forced to wear turquoise, as a mark of his status, but he wore it in simple, practical garments. He was sure the man was a bodyguard of some sort. Dax was introduced to Mia, the other king’s sword, but not the man who was staring at him now.

 

... _Staring_ at him now. Dax almost coloured with embarrassment, but still, he was too curious to let it go. He looked quickly at Gideon, and knew by his expression that the peace talks would go on for _hours._ The man seemed to agree, as he nodded his head towards his king and rolled his eyes again, smiling, as if to say, _I know what you mean._

Before he fully knew what he was doing, Dax made the silent, subtle gesture of “take over for me” to Owen, and slipped out of the room. He didn’t have to look behind to know that the man was following him.

 

“Darren Tyler,” the man said as soon as they were alone and out of earshot. “I’m sorry; I wanted to introduce myself earlier- but, well. Spook’s protective,” he explained, looking guilty.

 

“ _Spook?_ ”

 

“Oh- the king. It’s just my nickname for him.” Dax’s confusion clearly showed on his face, because Darren was trying, and failing, to hide his laughter. “Oh, you _really_ don’t know who I am.”

 

Dax studied him unashamedly. He could see, even from this distance that he wasn’t a fighter- at least, not a physical one. His dark skin was soft and unmarked, his mouse-brown hair a little long and curling at the ends. Clearly a man who was concerned with appearance, Dax thought. He’d say a magician, though he was as different to their own court sorcerer as water to a stone.

 

“So? What do you make of me?”

 

“You’re... rich,” Dax finally said, though he was still unsure. “A nobleman.”

 

Darren laughed again. “I haven’t a penny- to my own name. Any other guesses?”  


“A magician?” His style and personality would match that of a sorcerer from Fenton, Dax supposed. The guess got him a little nod.

 

“I dabble, in illusions mostly. Little tricks.”

 

So, not in an _official_ sense, Dax thought. “I give up.”

 

“The tenacity of Tregarren,” Darren mocked, though not spitefully. “I’m his consort. Did they really not tell you?” He added, “Clearly _not_ ,” after an awkward pause. “My apologies. I know it’s outdated here, I didn’t mean to offend-”

 

“You didn’t,” Dax said quickly, and then consulted what he liked to call his “inner Owen.”

  
(He then, a little guiltily, did what he usually did with the real Owen; admired him from afar, listened to him patiently and attentively, and then did the exact opposite of whatever he said.)

 

“Darren,” he said, “If I’m _allowed_ to call you that, which I hope I am-” he wasn’t versed in the ways of consorts and their masters- “I think I’m going to need your help.”

 

*

 

“You’re spending a lot of time with King Spencer’s...” Clive fished for the right word. “Companion?”

 

“Consort,” Dax corrected, though the word still felt strange to him. “We used to have them, _years_ ago. Long before Gideon.”

 

“You’re not answering the question,” Clive noted. “Though I suppose it wasn’t a question, more of a statement I’m expecting you to confirm. Because you _have_ been. Spending time with him.”

  
“I thought that was the point of this visit? Co-operation, alliance, knowledge?”

 

“Mm. _I’m_ supposed to be doing that. The _kings_ are supposed to be doing that. _You_ are supposed to be protecting our king in case this all goes horribly, _horribly_ wrong. Not giggling in the shadows with the other king’s husband-consort-person.”

 

Dax raised an eyebrow, but let it slide. He could see how flustered his childhood best friend was, forced to ‘show off’ as a court sorcerer to match up to the wizards and witches brought from Fenton. Clive was a simple person; preferred potions and intricate but subtle spells to flashy tricks and dances and ceremonial robes. He didn’t look much, but he had been indispensable in protecting the city with his inventions and was highly valued by everyone, even if they didn’t say it as often as they should.

 

“We don’t _giggle._ We’re just talking, that’s all. Trying to make this meeting go as smoothly as possible.”

 

“By placing all your attentions on someone _else’s_ lover?” Clive asked, looking somewhat concerned. “A very proud, short-tempered someone?”

 

Dax thought back to the way the King had shouted in the throne room the last time one of his conditions had been rejected, and felt a little foolish. But neither of them were _flirting-_ Dax couldn’t remember a  time he’d ever been interested in someone in that way, and was sure he never would be;  and Darren, he knew, was devoted to his husband, (as much as he teased him.)

 

“I’m not placing _attentions_ on anyone,” Dax said finally. “I’m just making a friend. Like we all should be.”

*

 

“I see you’ve been making friends,” Spook noted, and Darren couldn’t quite work out his tone. The two of them were taking a break from the goings-on of the court to take some time out for themselves. Spook was ready to collapse into bed and sleep for a few blessed hours away from the heat and bustle of the assembly, but Darren had dragged him out onto the beach, and they were walking along the sand.

 

“Isn’t that the point?” Darren answered. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

 

“Defensive,” Spook countered. “I don’t mind. I just don’t like the way they look at you.”

 

Surprised, Darren stopped walking to stare at his husband. “The way _these_ people look at me?” When they travelled within their region, Spook would complain about how both men and women flirted with _his_ consort, and made it plain wherever they went that such behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated.  He was possessive, sometimes to the extreme, and though it didn’t often bother Darren, he was surprised and a little irritated at how quickly his husband jumped to jealousy in _Tregarren,_ of all places. The people here gave him a genuine, (if slightly confused) respect, and he’d never felt so _normal_ in his life. Not lusted after, or teased, or sneered at- just treated as an equal.

 

“Yes, _these_ people,” Spook said. “I think they really have the wrong idea about us; they look like they _pity_ you. Not- the other thing.”

 

“The other thing being-“

 

“You know what the other thing is. Your favourite Sword does it too.”

 

Darren sighed. “I know, I know. He doesn’t mean to. The practice is- it’s outdated, here. They just don’t understand. They assume I was forced into this, when I chose it.” He emphasised ‘chose’ just a little, just enough to assuage those annoying, lingering, _irrational_ feelings of guilt he knew Spook had about the whole thing. “Maybe, it’ll be less of a shock to them next time, now we have this alliance.”

 

“Next time,” Spook grumbled, “it _won’t_ be an issue. We’ll have abolished the whole damned practice once and for all, and you’ll just be my _husband._ ”

 

*

 

“So, are they actually _married,_ or-“

 

“Gideon, let it go,” Dax sighed.

 

“Gideon, you’re favouring your left side too much,” Owen added, and chuckled as the two boys whirled around in surprise. He felt a huge rush of affection for the both of them as they sheepishly laid down their weapons. Gideon had only been king for a little under a year, and Dax had been promoted from under Owen’s own tutelage at the same time. Desperate times had called for desperate measures; but they were both so _young._ “I brought some more light,” he said, needlessly, as he hung it up on the fence they were sparring next to.  “You shouldn’t strain your eyes.”

 

“Thank you. Will you come join us? Or are you here to send us to bed?” Dax teased, and Owen felt a pang as he remembered once again that Dax was no longer his ward; no longer lived in his house, even. As the King’s Sword, Dax had moved into the antechamber of Gideon’s quarters, but he suspected the two boys ( _men_ , he reminded himself forcefully) lay awake and chatting in the same room more often than not.

 

“Neither,” Owen said, content to just watch. He’d just come from seeing Luke; and although both boys insisted they didn’t need help of any kind, he still felt it his duty to keep an eye on them. “Letting off some steam?”

 

“You can get bored of all this diplomacy nonsense,” Gideon grumbled, turning back to the wooden and straw dummy they’d been practicing on earlier and striking it, hard. “I don’t see why we can’t just sign the damn papers and be done with it. They can all go home, then; I’m sick of the creeps.”

 

“Our noble and diplomatic king, ladies and gentlemen,” Dax observed. “They’re not so bad, really.”

 

“Owen,” Gideon sighed, “would you please tell your son to stop making eyes at the King’s consort before he puts us at war?”

 

“Dax,” Owen started to say; and then stopped, because Dax wasn’t laughing like he and Gideon were. He was staring at his feet, turning his sword over and over in his hands for something to do. It wasn’t the comment on the flirting, it couldn’t be. He knew Dax wasn’t interested in that, and was confident enough in it to not be affected by teasing. _So_ … “You boys should get some sleep,” Owen said, feeling almost sick. “It’ll be an even longer day tomorrow.  If you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave.”

 

“Owen-“ Gideon started, looking surprised,  but was cut off by Dax wishing them both goodnight as well, and walking off in the opposite direction.  “What’s with him?”

 

*

 

“I get it,” Darren said a few nights later, as they sat on the sand bathed in moonlight. “You want to be taken seriously. Don’t we all?”

 

*

 

“One more day,” Mia said calmly, catching Darren’s eye and trying not to laugh. “Then this will all be over and we can go home.”

 

“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” Darren said soothingly. “Dax thinks so too; you both are. Just sign it and make the peace.”

 

“I know you feel like you have something to prove,” Mia continued. “Because you’re both new at this. But if you can both walk away from this with a new alliance, people _will_ remember it. That’s all you need to do.”

 

“And then we can come back and visit,” Darren said cheerfully.  “Yes?”

 

It took a while, but Spook eventually smiled. “Yes. Of course, if it would make you happy.” He kissed the top of Darren’s head and brought him in a little closer, so he was snuggled into Spook’s left side on their large bed in the guest quarters. They lay there in silence for a little while, breathing in time with each other, content.

 

“It would make _me_ happy too.” Mia broke the silence and Spook, hearing the pout in her voice, laughed and pulled her in closer to his other side.

“Of course, my sword. Of course.”

 

*

 

“So,” Dax murmured, “your King seems calmer.”

 

Darren grinned. “I wore him out. And so does yours.”

 

“I wore mine out too,” he admitted, “but not in the same way. You think we can get through the last day without them declaring war?”

 

Darren watched fondly as Spook rolled up his star-patterned robes and signed the peace treaty with a flourish of his quill. “3… 2… 1… and we’re at peace. We did it, Dax.”

 

“That we did,” Dax agreed, and then stopped as he saw Owen surveying the scene from the back of the room.  “Will you excuse me? I need to fix one last thing this week.”

 

Darren started to say, ‘of course’, but then found himself moving- no, being _dragged_ towards the centre of the growing celebrations, where his king beamed at him and Darren forgot all about what he was going to say, or indeed, who he was saying it to.

 

Outside of the hall, Dax caught up with Owen.

 

“Wait-“ and Owen stopped, looking surprised, and (Dax hated himself) hopeful. The last few nights he’d tried making the short journey to home- Owen’s house, and chickened out at the last minute every time. He’d been awful; he couldn’t even really explain _why._

 

“Is there something wrong?” Owen asked, mildly. He read Dax like a book, always had.

 

“I was-“ Dax felt all of twelve years old again. “You know I’ve been really busy, uh, seeing as this is my first official royal function, and I let other things slip. Do you have the time- would you train with me tonight?”

 

Owen nodded. “Meet me at the usual place,” he said simply. “After all of today’s events are tied up, we’ll have time for a few hours practice.”

 

Owen was captain of the King’s guard. Years of training and loss had made him weathered, and hard, and he could arrange his face like the most concealing of masks. When Dax was younger, he’d often had trouble reconciling his warm, friendly guardian and the ruthless, efficient captain as one person.

 

Yet, he knew, when Owen said ‘the usual place’, he meant _come home._ And Dax always would.


End file.
